Resolve
by Shezuil
Summary: SPOILERS After Edward performs the last transmutation of the series he awakens to a new world and the realization that dealing with the Gate has cost him yet again...


Hi folks. This fic is the result of a sleepless night, and a plot bunny that has chewed on my leg since last year, when FMA ended. As a result, there's probably some horrible incongruities and some sentences that don't make much sense. I've rewritten chunks of this for the past two weeks, so here's hoping that I caught nearly everything... While I may go on with this fic, that solely depends on whether or not I can manage to work out a solid plot... For now, look at it as a one-shot.

The following contains MAJOR SPOILERS for the end of the series. Please, please, please don't read on unless you've seen the entire series. You owe yourself the opportunity to see the briliant ending for yourself. Don't spoil it, ne?

I've speculated as to what happened after Edward performed that final transmutation in episode 51, and finally gotten to typing it up. I'm not sure all the bugs are out and I'm not sure if I've made any historical errors... so please point out anything of that sort so I can fix it.

I could never do Arakawa-sensei's characters justice. I don't pretend to be able to either. At the very least, I hope I've provided an enjoyable read for you, my fellow fans.

Please enjoy!

………………………………………………………………………………………………

He could hear voices all around him. They were distant, and not horribly clear, but they were, without a doubt, there. The voices were rather quiet too, as if there were some kind of restriction placed upon their bearers that prohibited them from speaking any louder.

That was strange…

Hadn't he just completed the transmutation that would bring Alphonse back from within the Gate? And why were there so many people around? Surely there weren't enough people in the surrounding area to even fill a room to the capacity needed to create the humming noise that surrounded him. Even so, there wasn't anyone in the underground city other than himself and Rosé… and he had destroyed it too… Several thoughts passed through his mind as to what was going on, but he decided to figure out this particular puzzle later.

He winced and squeezed his already closed eyes shut harder. He couldn't bring himself to open them just yet. The throbbing pain between his eyes bore into him like a white-hot blade. He could also feel twinges of pain from the rest of his body, indicating the likelihood that his headache was probably going to be the least of his worries.

One thing was certain- his mouth was like a desert. A small moan escaped his throat, muffled by his lips, which remained closed for fear of being unable to open them without causing them to crack open in multiple places.

Shifting his head to the left, he realized that he was in bed. The rough surface of a low-weave cotton against his left cheek and the poor support that the pillow gave to his neck and head, along with a faded but very distinguishable scent of antiseptic and sickness, screamed out 'hospital' to his slightly muddled mind.

What sounded like a cart passed by him, the squeaking of its wheels further aggravating his headache. Taking in a slow breath through his nose, he realized that the typical hospital smell was more than just faded- it was almost as if the smell had been diluted tenfold. Not that he was complaining…

His right cheek involuntarily twitched as he made an effort to open his eyes. Immediately, he gave up. The small amount of light that poured through, although his golden eyes were hardly opened a millimeter yet, instigated a wave of pain through his head, accompanied by an onslaught of nausea.

A cool hand gently came to rest on his forehead, soothing some of the agony.

"Edward?"

That voice…

He knew that voice…

At least, he thought he did.

"Can you hear me?"

"…"

The hand brushed back the blonde bangs that lay scattered across his face, and as it did so, a wafting of scent reached his nostrils.

He definitely knew that smell, however faint it was. Was it…?

A small sound came from behind his lips as he dared to part them. And crack, they certainly had. The rough edges of dried skin pulled painfully up from the soft flesh beneath. After a short breath, his mouth moved as if in preparation for speaking.

But no words came.

Overcome by a wave of pain that suddenly thundered though his skull, he lay there, silent, taking shallow breaths through his now open mouth. The hand moved again, but instead of feeling cool skin against his warm forehead, what felt like a cold damp towel tenderly moistened his bleeding, cracked lips. The towel's moistness amplified his thirst.

"W…wa… tt… w…" he whispered, unable to make his tongue move enough for coherent words to take shape.

"Shh," the voice came again. The towel left too. Then, the hand burrowed underneath his neck to the base of his skull, raising his head slightly.

Wincing, he tried once again to open his eyes. Success. The world was blurry, the light as painful as before. But, desperate to know what was going on, he continued to open his eyes.

What felt like a glass touched his lips, and the hand helped his head tilt back slightly. The sensation of water flooding into his parched mouth was like a jump-start. His eyes opened more, and his left hand reached up to shakily clutch at the glass at his mouth.

The water cascaded down his throat, freeing the cotton-like sludge that covered the interior of his mouth and tied down his tongue. He clung to the glass as if it were a lifeline, trying to make the water pass down his throat faster.

"Easy, now. Drink slowly."

His only response was to drink faster.

The glass moved away, to his despair. He grabbed for it, the hand holding the vessel blocking his way and directing his hand down to his stomach. The hand behind his head moved, and he sank back into the limp pillow.

"The last thing you need is a stomachache from drinking too fast, Edward."

While blinking as fast as he dared, trying to make the world shift into focus, he found his voice.

"Where's… Al?"

No response.

"Where… is Al?" he repeated, stronger this time.

He looked over to his right side, from which he sensed the presence of the owner of those hands that had brought him blessed liquid sustenance. The figure, more of a fuzzy colored shadow presently, matched the one he saw in his memory, matched the smell he noticed earlier, matched only one person… But… that man wasn't in Amestris anymore…

"Where-"

"Do you know what happened? Where you are?"

He blinked.

Where he was… what… happened… His eyes widened, and he gripped the thin blanket that lay on his chest.

He had feared this…

"Edward…?"

Closing his eyes, Edward fought the lump that was quickly forming in his throat. Sure, the risk had been very real, the thought more than once passing through his mind that he would be flung once again to the other side of the Gate in exchange for his brother's body, but… he had hoped…

"This… is the other side… isn't it?" he whispered painfully.

Hohenheim cast a sad gaze upon his son and said nothing. It was a question that required no answer.

"Edward… what happened?"

He took a deep breath and turned his gaze towards the old man beside him. But paused. Did he really want to tell him what happened? No matter what he had found out about this man when last he set foot in this world, he still couldn't forgive him. Couldn't fully trust him… didn't want to.

"…"

With a sigh, Hohenheim rose from his seat, and moved directly to his son's side, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"I know you probably don't want to tell me. But, the fact is that whatever happened to you and Alphonse is of great importance to me." He rested his large calloused hand on the small, icy, pale hand of the young man before him.

"Please."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His gaze grew cold, and his eyes narrowed. As much as he hated to admit it, Hohenheim Elric had a point. Even if this son was quite against recounting the events to him, the man had some right to know what fate had befallen his other son… Swallowing hard, he put his pride aside, deciding that he would recount the bare minimum of events for him. Better tell him now than wait until later, since the more time the older Elric had to think about things, the more questions that would undoubtedly plague the bedridden young man later.

"Dante had Al… and the stone… I went to get him back, to fix things, to…" he trailed off. Hohenheim remained silent.

"I ended up fighting Envy… and…"

The elder man looked somber at the mention of the homunculus that he created.

"Then?" he asked softly.

"… he killed me."

The sharp intake of breath served as Hohenheim's response.

"He… ran his arm through… my… chest…" he said in a soft voice, almost a whisper, hand pressed to the spot where he could still recall the searing agony of being impaled on Envy's transformed arm as he was caught off guard from the sight of a face so like his fathers'- and his own.

"Edward… I…" the father stared at the son, eyes filled with pain.

"Al got free, and he used the Philosopher's Stone to revive me. I was at the Gate, with Envy, and after he went through… wanting to go after you… I woke up back in the room where Al was…" he said quickly, to avoid his father's pity. He then closed his eyes again.

"And I was whole again."

Hohenheim had no response again, looking down at his son, gently squeezing the frail hand beneath his own, wondering if he knew…

"Rosé told me what happened. Then, I decided that I had bring Al back from the Gate and destroy that place." He said firmly. "I made the circle, triggered it… and… that's all I remember."

Silence.

Blinking steadily, the world finally clearing up from the haze it had been, he looked to his right, at the man whose gaze made that lump return to his throat.

Brow furrowed, he sighed.

"I don't want your sympathy… how did you find me anyway? London doesn't seem like a small place- this is London again, isn't it?"

Hohenheim cleared his throat and straightened his glasses.

"Yes, it's London. A friend of mine works as head of the government here. He noticed you in this hospital when he was making rounds to visit soldiers hurt in combat," the older man stated in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. "He said that your resemblance to me was uncanny, and since remembering that I had mentioned having children, he thought he had better mention his finding. I figured that since your counterpart had been killed in this world, the only way for you to be here again was with your own body. I had to see for myself if it was really you. And it was."

"Ah…" He hadn't quite expected such a response, and he didn't know what exactly to say in response. So, he said nothing.

Silence again.

"Edward…"

"Mrhm."

"What did you trade to bring Alphonse back?"

"I-"

The question was valid, natural to ask given the circumstances, and something he should be asking himself. But, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what else the Gate had taken from him this time. Wasn't being thrown from his world to this one enough? Knowing how the Gate worked, that would be placing his hopes much too high. He sighed and lifted his left hand from his chest, his father's hand simultaneously moving aside.

Slowly, cautiously, he reached over to his right shoulder, to where he should have found the beginning of his right arm.

It was gone.

He knew that this would probably happen too, but why did that lump refuse to go away? His vision was getting blurry again too.

Unsure if he wanted to, but knowing he must, he lifted his head to look down towards his legs- and saw only one.

He sank back into the flattened pillow. How many times had he told himself while he prepared the circle that his limbs were liable to be taken again? Even so, Al was worth any loss. But… still… his arm and leg… they were there not so long ago. However briefly, he had been whole again. Having lost his limbs again, and now being unable to even confirm whether or not he had actually succeeded in bringing his younger brother back from the Gate did nothing to help deter the flood of emotion that overtook him. Half of their goal reached, only to be lost in exchange for the other half.

Equivalent exchange, indeed.

Dammit… the lump in his throat seemed to have tripled in size. His hand, regardless of his efforts, would not stop trembling, as he gripped at the blanket again.

He fought them.

Hard.

He had done so many times in the past, and almost always won. But, not this time.

The tears fell.

Hohenheim covered his mouth with one hand as he sat slouched forward, elbows atop his knees, a pained expression still lining his aged face.

He moved that hand and tenderly brushed away the tears that cascaded down his son's face, his other then falling to hang against his knee.

No words could console him. The father knew that, still having said nothing. Regardless of whether or not he had expected this loss, it was harder to take than he thought it would be.

Hohenheim reached into his pocket and pulled from it a handkerchief, which he brought up to the young man's face, only to have it batted away by the hand he had held moments before.

"I said I don't want your sympathy and I don't need guilt-based charity," the emotion-filled voice croaked out.

"It's not sympathy. Nor is it charity."

After a sniff and a rough swipe of the back of his hand to clear away those bothersome tears, the tear-filled golden eyes glared into the wizened face of his father.

He won the battle as the older set of eyes cast themselves downward.

Satisfied that a sarcastic retort was not required, he moved to sit up.

A mistake.

He was instantly flattened onto the thin mattress below, eyes shut tightly, hand clutching at his abdomen.

"I thought…" he gasped out.

"An air raid occurred not long before a search and rescue team found you in the remains of a collapsed building. Unfortunately, you must have fallen to this side right before the building fell… thus, you've got quite a few more injuries now than you arrived with." Hohenheim explained.

"… Great…"

Despite the situation, a small smile flitted onto the old man's face.

With a sigh, his son reached up again to rub his bleary eyes.

"Seeing you covered with bandages reminds me of when you fell out of the tree beside the house when you were little…" Hohenheim said with a distant look on his face.

A prompt glare was sent his direction.

"That was an accident and I wasn't stuck in a hospital bed as a result. This is totally different. Plus, I wasn't covered with bandages," retorted the younger of the two as he shook his left arm, almost completely covered in white gauze.

"You had quite a few bad scratches, so you had a fair few of them. You also asked your mother for more, saying that they made everything better."

A harrumph.

"The days of innocence and freedom that childhood offers are lost long before they should be…"

"Don't get philosophical on me, old man."

Silence yet again.

"I'm going home," came a whisper, finally.

"Edward… you can't access the Gate from this side. At least, not though any means that I'm familiar with."

"I'll find a way."

The two looked at each other, one gaze filled with defiance, the other with fatherly admiration.

"You need to get well first."

"I need to get away from this place."

"You'll need help."

"Feh."

"You've got a few more days here. After that, you'll come home with me. Then, we'll see what we can do to get you mobile again."

"I said I don't want y-"

"Edward. I'm all you have on this side." Hohenheim interrupted in a stern voice. "Push that pride of yours aside and accept my help. After all, I owe you that much, don't I?"

The injured youth frowned and looked away. He hated to admit it, but his father was right. He didn't know anyone on this side, and he certainly wasn't going to be able to find a way home lying helplessly in a bed.

"Fine…" he grumbled begrudgingly.

Silence filled the space between father and son yet again.

"I'll go get you something to eat."

"…"

Smiling, Hohenheim patted the side of his son's stomach, rose stiffly and headed down the corridor, his footsteps echoing against the subdued buzz of the hospital.

Sighing again and closing his eyes, Edward Elric lay back, consumed by his thoughts.

If there was some way of accessing the Gate in this war-torn parallel world, he was going to find it. Clenching his only remaining fist, he opened his eyes and took in the dulled world around him. There was no way he could stay here.

His father was right- he couldn't do this alone. Maybe this was a chance to get to know the man who had left his family to protect them from the sins of his past- the man that Edward had hated for most of his life. Or perhaps this was just another trial that he had to go through to atone for his own sins.

No…

It didn't matter what the crazed logic behind all this was. He was thinking too hard.

All that mattered was getting back to his little brother. Alphonse had to be there. The transmutation must have worked- if it didn't, would he be on this side, maimed once more, having paid a high price once again for his dealings with the gate?

Eyes set determinedly, Edward swore that he would find his way back to Amestris.

After all, that was where he belonged.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Author's note: I think it's necessary that I add a note here, as a result from Oroko's most appreciated and very thoughtful review. I've thought long and hard about what Edward gave up to bring Alphonse's body back from the Gate. I've also had a little help from some spoilers that I've seen in regards to the movie (which I don't wanna mention, 'cause I don't wanna spoil anything for you guys!). I totally think it's possible that he would have only lost his arm (which I know for certain he lost in that last transmutation), but part of me thinks that the Gate would consider that too little. After all, it's not really equivalent exchange anymore by this point. I feel that with the crap that the Gate has pulled in the past, it would take both of Ed's limbs, and send him to the other side. As much as I wish Edward had kept his leg at the very minimum, I'm skeptical that he did... Besides, with the prostheses available to soldiers injured in the wars, Edward would probably be able to walk around fairly normally (even run, which he does in the Hagaren movie trailers)- and we've also got to consider the fact that Hohenheim is going to help Ed with his prostheses, so I'm also assuming that they'd be better quality than you'd typically find in 1920s Europe. Thinking on that, it may be impossible to tell for certain just from watching the movie footage if he's lost his leg or not... but... (has info that shouldn't be disclosed because of spoiler content!) Uh... yeah... Hope that helps some questions that may have come up... For the most part, I'm taking a shot in the dark! So I'm right along with all of you in speculation! ... I just thought Oroko brought up a very valid point, and that I should probably explain what I was thinking to future readers. Thanks for reading!


End file.
